Shaken
by ZoZo
Summary: Lance falls apart after a tragic event
1. Part 1

"I didn't mean to.."  
  
Lance stood rooted to the spot, breathless as he witnessed the results of his destruction. A horrible silence befell the soccer pitch, as if everyone had forgotten to breathe.  
  
"Is she..?" Summers' voice rang out. No answer was needed. Just a grave nod from the Professor. Then the noise started. Rogue and Jean crying, Blue-Boy having to be restrained as he howled in German, Summers shouting that it couldn't be true- they could still save her.  
  
He could hear clawing, scratching at the ground which had become her prison as the X-Geeks desperately tried to free her.  
  
He saw the Wolverine haul her out of there, limp, lifeless and small. She hung like a doll over his shoulder. They left in a ghostly trail reminiscent of a funeral procession. He watched as they disappeared into the setting sun, a set of black dots on the horizon.  
  
Kitty Pryde. So vibrant and perfect, beautiful and special.  
  
And now dead.  
  
*  
  
He pressed his forehead against the wall, holding onto it with all his strength. It couldn't stop the tremour running through him, the dreadful fact that She Was Dead and He Had Killed Her.  
  
He couldn't even remember how he had got home. He must have walked, blinded by unshed tears in a stupour of disbelief.  
  
How could it have happened?  
  
With an anguished yell, he stared at the hands which had caused him the greatest loss of his life. He bit hard on his lip as hot, burning tears threatened to escape. He wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried since he was a kid- he hated the weakness of it. Besides, crying wouldn't bring her back.  
  
How could he have known, when he opened up the ground with his quake of destruction that she'd have slipped and fallen into the orifice? How could he have known that she'd hit her head at the bottom, unable to phase through and save herself before the ground crumbled on top of her?  
  
Murderer! The rising taunt sang in his mind, making his blood boil. He loved her. He loved her and his powers took her away before he even had the chance to tell her.  
  
Balling his hand into a fist, he drove it hard into the wall. It left a large hole and plaster crumbled to the floor around him. It was just another reminder of the damage he seemed to cause wherever he went and clutching his now bruised hand in the other he whimpered slightly.  
  
"Lance?" Pietro stood at the doorway, looking small and uncomfortable. He was looking from the hole in the wall to Lance as if waiting for him to explode again.  
  
"I- I brought you some Chinese shit." The slighter, white-haired boy held out a bag. Lance ignored it, staring at the floor. Couldn't Pietro understand that he wanted to be alone? What if he broke and Pietro saw?  
  
"Lance?" Pietro repeated, trying to make him look at him. Slowly, Lance lifted his head and Pietro saw the deep pools of pain in his eyes, sparkling like diamonds with tears that refused to be shed. "You've got to eat, you know. It'll make you feel better."  
  
Lance shook his head, biting his lip so hard he drew blood. Why wouldn't Pietro look away?  
  
"Come on.. I ran all the way to Golden Wall for it."  
  
"That's only up the street," Lance muttered.  
  
"Just.. try some, OK? You need your strength," Pietro said softly, pushing the bag towards him. Food was the last thing Lance wanted but Pietro had said it would make him feel better. Maybe it would- maybe the trembling was just hunger.  
  
He opened the bag, Pietro's eyes never leaving him. Since when did he care so much, anyway? He took out a container and a pair of disposable chopsticks. Seeing the container steaming, he knew that he really didn't want food. Couldn't face it. But if he just had a little, maybe Pietro would leave him alone.  
  
With a hand that would not stop shaking, however much he willed it to, he opened the container. The smell immediately hit him- the sickly, greasy smell of unwanted food. It looked like worms- and the smell was so intense- crawling into his nostrils and making his stomach contract repeatedly.  
  
In seconds, Pietro grabbed him by the shoulders and led him to the bathroom. There, Lance retched repetitively and painfully but to no avail. Pietro rubbed his back in small circles, telling him it was alright.  
  
"Why- are you being- so nice to me?" Lance gasped as Pietro gently pushed a sodden strand of his brown hair off his face. "Don't you- know what I did?"  
  
"I'm doing it because you need somebody right now," Pietro told him. "Deep breaths, Lance," he added, desperate to calm him down.  
  
Lance stared at Pietro sadly, reminding him of a lost child.  
  
"I need Kitty," he whispered pitifully, tears threatening to escape more than ever. He stared very hard at a spot on the floor. He didn't cry. He didn't cry. "Kitty's gone, Lance," Pietro said gently. "She's dead."  
  
"No," involuntarily, a sob escaped from Lance and then another. The tears followed, spilling clumsily down his cheeks before he could stop himself.  
  
Pietro just stared. He didn't know Lance was even capable of crying. He'd always seemed so strong. Yes, he got upset but he expressed it through anger, causing destruction wherever he could. Now he saw Lance doubled with grief, heart-wrenching sobs throbbing in his throat as he struggled to breathe. His face was red and a constant stream of tears dripped off it, making him completely unrecognisable.  
  
Quietly, Pietro walked across to his devastated friend. Lance grabbed him and clawed at him, desperate for comfort before he sank to his knees and pulled Pietro down with with him, his low wail rending the air.  
  
"Lance," Pietro whispered as he gathered the broken boy into his arms. Lance sobbed desperately, burying his head in Pietro's chest. He was shaking so violently now that Pietro could feel his bones jumping within the flesh and pulled him tighter to him, murmuring whatever words of comfort he could find.  
  
After a while, the violence of Lance's grief was dying down although the tears wouldn't cease. Pietro gently tucked a finger under Lance's chin and tilted his face up towards his.  
  
Lance was a mess. He soft, chestnut eyes were now red rimmed and raw. His mouth hung open and his nose was running into it.  
  
"I didn't mean to," he said thickly, panic rising in him again. "I loved her!"  
  
"Sssh," Pietro soothed, lightly kissing Lance's forehead.  
  
"I murdered her-"  
  
"It wasn't your fault," he told him gently, bringing his lips to the tears and kissing them away.  
  
"I did- I-"  
  
"Lance, it wasn't your fault," Pietro repeated more firmly. Lance sniffed, looking up at him disbelievingly. He still seemed so endearingly child- like.  
  
"I loved her," he said again, in barely more than a whisper. His eyes were huge, wet, glossy pools in an otherwise passive face.  
  
"I know you did." Pietro squeezed his hand, taking care not to touch the bruised knuckles. He noticed a wince of pain cross Lance's face, unrelated to the grief and recognised it immediately. He'd seen it before.  
  
"Headache?"  
  
Lance nodded, watching as Pietro removed a pill bottle from his pocket.  
  
"Figured you'd need these," he said kindly, giving Lance the bottle.  
  
"This pain can get better," Lance reflected as he swallowed two of the pills. "But.. but this won't."  
  
Pietro could see fresh tears welling in his eyes again and wondered how Lance could possibly cry any more.  
  
"It will," he told him, slinging a brotherly arm around his shoulders. "I'll get you through, bro. God.. sounded corny, huh?" he added, evoking the smallest of smiles from Lance.  
  
"Thanks, Piet," Lance said with a new respect for him. "I'm tired. Think I'll turn in."  
  
"Yeah, you've had it hard," Pietro told him as he and Lance walked back to his room. He watched by the door as Lance sprawled out on to his bed, exhausted with grief.  
  
"Thanks, Piet," he repeated hoarsely. "For standing by me."  
  
The boy at the door just smiled.  
  
"Hey," he said. "Don't you know what Brotherhood means?"  
  
Then he turned out Lance's light and his footsteps were heard retreating down the hall.  
  
His words ran through Lance's jumbled head. Yes, he knew what Brotherhood meant and it made the lead weight of his pain and grief in his chest loosen, just a little.  
  
Tonight he'd lost so much, but he couldn't help feeling he'd gained something too. 


	2. Part 2

Pietro, Fred and Todd sat around the small table, waiting for the moment when Lance would resurface. Pietro was finding the time agonisingly slow and it seemed that with every stolen glance at the clock the hands never showed any intention of moving.  
  
None of the boys talked. They had found that after the horrific events of last night there were no words to say. They were content to contribute to a stiff atmosphere of drummed fingers on the tabletops and the occasional clearing of throats, always watching the clock. Watching and waiting.  
  
It was Todd who spoke first, glancing up from his folded hands in his lap.  
  
"Did.. Did anyone speak to Lance last night?"  
  
The question hung stifling in the air. Fred winced at the name of their team-mate, the boy who had taken somebody's life.  
  
"I did," Pietro put in his best efforts to speak slowly. He really wanted to be running right then, running and not stopping for a very long time.  
  
"He alright?" Todd pressed, knowing immediately what a stupid question it was.  
  
"What do you think?" whispered the white-haired boy in acid tones as he remembered seeing Lance break into pieces.  
  
"He was shaking," Pietro said, his tone changing and face softening. "I tried to give him food and he-started-retching-really-badly-and-had-a-panic- attack." He took a breath before continuing, vowing not to let the memory get him into a state. "He couldn't breathe and I didn't know what to do. You know, even then he was trying to hold back except I eventually broke him and," Pietro felt slightly guilty to be making this confession. "Lance cried."  
  
"Fuck," muttered Todd. Fred still stayed silent, staring at his shoelaces and only half-listening.  
  
"He was completely shattered, Todd, you wouldn't have recognised him." Pietro ran a hand through his hair, not noticing the growing look of suspicion on the youngest Brother's eyes.  
  
"We all have to help him through this," Pietro continued, sounding in Todd's eyes like a false preacher. "It'll be hard but we can do it. I mean, we have to for Lance's sake."  
  
"What happened to you, 'Tro?" hissed Todd as his eyes narrowed. "This ain't you speakin'. Why are you acting like this?"  
  
The speed demon's eye twitched, revealing rage but he repressed it with a deep breath.  
  
"Someone's got to help him, Todd."  
  
The younger boy mimicked him in a simpering voice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.  
  
"Since when did you care about other people anyway?"  
  
Pietro glared, but knew there was good reason for such a question. Acting like a egotistical maniac was his defence mechanism, a way of preventing people from seeing his pathetically soft centre. Lance had seen the real him yesterday, but Todd and Fred had yet to know he was anything but a selfish and spoilt coward.  
  
"Lance needs help," he replied curtly. "Besides, he kind of grows on you, you know?"  
  
"Oh yeah," Todd bared his yellow teeth a little. "Like mould."  
  
Who did Maximoff think he was to come over all saintly on them when he had clearly never given a damn about Lance before?  
  
"I'll check on him myself, yo," Todd added hotly and sprang up the stairs.  
  
Pietro turned to Fred with a questioning look, but the larger mutant continued to stare into space, pretending he hadn't heard.  
  
*  
  
At about one o' clock that day, the three boys heard the latch on the door being opened followed by the sound of someone stepping out and carefully shutting the door behind them. They all stiffened at the sound and shared knowing looks.  
  
Lance.  
  
"I'll catch up with him," offered Pietro, standing at once only to be shot down by Todd's glare.  
  
"No way. I'm doing it."  
  
"Shut up, Toad, he doesn't trust you, you'll-"  
  
"He doesn't trust you either, traitor!"  
  
The two boys snarled, now both standing and raised their fists towards each other menacingly. The electric silence between them was broken by a decided, though not necessarily confident voice.  
  
"I'll go look for him," Fred told them and stood to his full height, towering above them. There was no way either of them were going to argue with him.  
  
*  
  
That was the first time Lance revisited the site and stared at the long, cracked trail in the ground. Something drew him to it- perhaps it was the last thing on Earth he had to remind him of Kitty. He didn't know.  
  
It was deeper than he remembered, like someone had reached in and gouged out handfuls of earth like a careless child.  
  
It looked like a grave.  
  
He had thought that his visit would stir up his emotions again and he'd break like he did last night, but standing there amongst the marks of his damage he felt little.  
  
There was a dull pain, an ache somewhere in the centre of his chest that would not subside.  
  
There was the throbbing pain in his head from using his powers.  
  
There was the knowledge that nothing would ever be normal again.  
  
But all this was bearable, as his mind seemed to have shut down the minute he walked back on to that field. He felt numb and achy and tired, but too tired to let the emotional pain take hold of him again. If he cried again like last night, he feared he would never stop.  
  
He didn't even notice the distant figure calling his name and hardly felt the strong hand gripping his shoulder. He was barely aware that he was slowly being led home and it was only when he was finally inside and stuffed into a chair that his mind begun to return.  
  
*  
  
The next day Lance was found at the same site four times. Every time he was forcibly brought back, becoming more numb and subdued with each visit.  
  
The three other boys were at a loss as to how to control him. Pietro's gentle approach worked no more than Fred's forceful 'cruel to be kind' method. Todd thought it would be best to act natural and pretend that nothing had happened, but this made their friend retreat further into himself.  
  
They knew that Lance could not keep returning to the place of Kitty's death but argued over how to deal with it.  
  
Todd thought that they should lock the doors and keep a closer eye on him. This angered Pietro, who believed that Lance should not be treated like a prisoner. He had to deal with his grief in his own way and if visiting that field was his choice then so be it. He'd stop it soon enough if they just left him alone.  
  
Fred kept himself to himself as usual, listening out for the click of the door's latch.  
  
*  
  
Lance threw off the covers on his bed, shoving his damp hair out of his eyes. Sleep was hopeless. The minute he shut his eyes he saw Her, staring up at him with coal-black eyes in a face white as bone. Red on black, red on white, blood tears poured endlessly from her eyes. She called his name in the faraway tones of a ghost, sometimes desperate and sometimes taunting.  
  
'Lance…… Lance…'  
  
"I love you," he had whispered into thin air.  
  
In his mind she laughed, a high-pitched, glass-shattering kind of noise which caused his head to throb with pain.  
  
'You don't love me. You killed me….. You killed me!'  
  
And as usual, Lance had forced his eyes open, throwing himself back into reality where She could not affect him. Her cold laugh echoed in his mind, tormenting him.  
  
"No," he hissed at the voice in his mind as he pulled on his shoes. He'd forget as soon as he got back to the field. It wouldn't be a very long walk, the place was conveniently close.  
  
Within seconds he was downstairs and out of the door, walking determinedly towards his destination. The laughter still rang in his head, but with every step closer it seemed to quieten.  
  
He would be alright, as soon as he saw it. He knew he would. He started to run, desperate to leave the image of Kitty and her laughter behind.  
  
A little breathless from running, he reached the field. He berated himself for the cowardly action of running away from somebody who wasn't real- not anymore. He headed straight for the chasm, realising how little he had been concentrating when he saw that the ground he was walking towards was perfectly smooth and flat.  
  
He turned and walked the other way, keeping an eye out for the crack in the ground. It wasn't usually this hard to find, but then it was dark. No moon. Besides, it had to be somewhere. Great big holes in the ground didn't just disappear.  
  
They didn't.  
  
It had to be somewhere! He began to panic, staring around wildly for the gorge. Where was it? Where was it?  
  
Becoming more and more frantic, Lance walked over every inch of the field. It shouldn't be so hard to find. It shouldn't be, unless it was-  
  
"Gone," he whispered shakily to himself, the realisation flowing through him heavily and painfully. Someone had come and closed up the ground and in doing so, split open his heart. In a matter of seconds the safe numbness the death site had given him ebbed away, releasing the devastating grief of last night.  
  
He didn't want to feel. He didn't want to think. He wanted the emptiness and they had taken it away!  
  
"Gone," he repeated, this time louder. He let the last syllables morph into an anguished yell and he knelt down, scraping away at the new ground that filled his abyss.  
  
"Gone!" he screamed, the word becoming a chant with his frenzied clawing at the ground. There was something deeply primitive about his pain and the way he expressed it.  
  
"Lance. Lance!" the familiar voice only just reached him as a pair of burly arms gripped him, physically restraining him. He struggled in Fred's strong hold, not understanding why they wouldn't let him go.  
  
"Lance," another pair of hands reached out for his, stopping him from gouging out chunks of earth. Todd stared at the bloodied stumps of the boy's nails and how, even when they had been removed from the ground, his hands continued to claw at thin air.  
  
"Stop this," Todd screamed, his voice rising above Lance's chant. "We're here now."  
  
"No no no," Lance breathed heavily, his body tiring of thrashing as Fred started to squeeze the air out of him.  
  
It was all gone. The chasm was gone, his mind was gone, his life had gone, Kitty was gone.  
  
"Gone," he murmured softly before passing out in his team-mate's arms.  
  
Fred gave Todd a meaningful look and the boy nodded in response. Without another word, Fred lifted Lance effortlessly and the pair of them made their way back to the Brotherhood house. 


	3. Part 3

Pietro slept comfortably in the big chair, sprawled across it with his long legs dangling over the side. He never seemed to need much sleep and found that when he did, he couldn't stay asleep for long. It was far too boring, too slow.  
  
However, Pietro had a very, very active mind. In times of stress or panic, his body tended to shut itself down whether he liked it or not in order of giving his mind a rest. That day he'd been so worried about Lance that he could focus on little else and found that the minute he sat down his eyes had closed.  
  
Somewhere very distant, in the back of his mind, he heard the door gently open. Somebody was home. No, two people. Fred and Todd.  
  
If Fred and Todd were home, then that meant-  
  
Pietro's eyes flew open and he sprang to his feet, almost ashamed by his melodramatic reaction. Fred and Todd were in the doorway, Fred carrying the slumped body of a boy. All Pietro could see of the boy was a few strands of dark brown hair amongst Fred's bulky arms. Lance's hair.  
  
"What happened?" he asked as Fred lay Lance down on Pietro's abandoned chair like an infant.  
  
"Todd? Fred? What happened? What happened to Lance?"  
  
The two boys did not seem to hear him. They were bent over Lance and whispering to each other.  
  
"What's going on?" Pietro tapped Todd's shoulder persistently. With his super-speed, he had a tendency to be extremely impatient.  
  
"Calm down, Speedy!" Todd shook Pietro's hand off. "Someone closed up the ground. He was kinda hysterical."  
  
Pietro ran a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair. Lance's frequent visits to the abyss where Kitty fell had shown them how important it was to him. It seemed to help him somehow and now it was gone, Lance was beginning to break again.  
  
Todd, who had been visibly shaken by the experience, muttered something about going to bed. Fred followed him up the stairs to his own bedroom and they both slept soundly for the rest of the night.  
  
Positioning himself on the arm of the chair, Pietro waited for Lance to come round. What was only about two minutes felt like hours to him. What could he say to make it better this time? What could he do?  
  
Lance opened his heavily-lidded eyes to a dimly lit room. He could see a blur of colours, ice-blue and silvery-white, and on blinking the colours morphed into a person.  
  
"Piet?"  
  
He looked tired, ill and unhappy. Dark shadows had formed beneath his lifeless eyes, dragging his whole face downwards.  
  
A small, long-fingered hand brushed across his forehead.  
  
"I'm going to call someone to take a look at you," Pietro's voice sounded muffled in his ears, like the boy was miles away rather than sitting in front of him.  
  
"Try to rest."  
  
The soft whisper dissolved into the air and Lance realised that the speed demon was gone.  
  
He couldn't remember why he was there. What had happened this time- why did Pietro look so worried? Who was he calling? Lance examined himself. A doctor? But he wasn't ill, he felt fine.  
  
Breath was drawn when he looked at his bloodied stubs of fingernails and the memories flooded back.  
  
The field. The fight. His quake. Kitty falling. Kitty dead. Everybody screaming. Tears. Pietro. The chasm. Numbness. Visits. Ground filled. Screaming. Gone.  
  
Gone.. How could anything ever be alright again? The pain of losing Her and knowing that it was his fault returned, more amplified than before. He felt it in every part of his body. It made his stomach twist and churn, his head pound and limbs shake with exhaustion.  
  
Pietro had that the pain would go with time and he'd been stupid enough to believe him. What did Maximoff know? When was the last time he murdered the person he loved most in the world?  
  
What if the dreadful ache never went away? Suppose he had to live his whole life tormented by guilt and pain, Her face forever in his mind?  
  
It was punishment enough for killing.  
  
He could hear Pietro speaking quietly on the phone in the kitchen. The white-haired mutant had been so patient with him, showing a gentle side that he would never have guessed Pietro had in a million years. Pietro had tried to help him, but he couldn't make the pain go away.  
  
Nobody could.  
  
If there was only a pill he could take to cure himself. A very, very strong painkiller that worked not only on the body, but the mind. Just one pill..  
  
Lance's eyes strayed to the small table in front of him and a brown bottle immediately swam into focus.  
  
He was very familiar with that bottle. Every time he had used his powers, the contents of the bottle had been his answer, his medicine. Those little white pills within never failed to make him feel better, so why shouldn't they now? Pietro, or Fred, or Todd had obviously left them on the table for that purpose. Why had he been so blind and not seen it before?  
  
Once again, the pills were the answer. They could make the pain go so easily. He frowned as a dark thought entered the back of his mind. They could make the pain go permanently.  
  
As the darkness in his mind took hold of him, he realised that the pills could not only get rid of the pain. They could get rid of him as well. How many would it take before everything went black and he left this miserable existence behind? Lance began to get excited by the morbid thought, thinking how in a short while everything could be over. He clutched up the bottle possessively, like a child with a treasured toy and crept quietly out of the room.  
  
Nobody would find him where he was going. A weird thrill ran through his body and he laughed, realising that they might never find him!  
  
'Where's Lance?' they'd simply wonder, searching for him day by day until they tired of Hide and Seek, unaware that the boy's body was very much there, rotting away to nothing in the basement.  
  
Lance remembered the day he'd found it. The fuse had blown and Mystique had told them it was in the basement. Nobody fancied going down there, finding the rest of the house repulsive enough but it just wasn't an option to live in darkness for the rest of their lives. In the end, he, Pietro and Fred had drawn straws about who would go Down There to fix the fuse. Todd had been too scared to even gamble going down to the basement.  
  
It was actually Pietro who drew the short straw, although his reluctance was plain for all to see. Not wanting to appear a coward, he had strutted out to the stairs with his chest puffed out, wielding his torch like a spear. He could not help but let his mask slip when his foot caught contact with the first step and turned to Lance with a pleading look. Lance understood, and not a word was said about the incident afterwards.  
  
He changed the fuse as quickly as he could, ready to bolt up the stairs when a thin beam of light from the torch caught upon a crack on the wall. At first he thought it was pretty much unremarkable, but as he shone the torch more brightly into the crack he could see its depth. Naturally curious, Lance had put his hand into the crack and found that there was just enough space in there. Just enough space to curl up and hide from the world- or a secret hideout, as his inner-child liked to call it.  
  
Just as he had that night, Lance climbed carefully into the hole in the wall. He unscrewed the pill bottle and left the cap lying on the floor outside the wall.  
  
And then, he stared into the bottle at the perfect white pills illuminated by torch-light.  
  
*  
  
In contrast to Lance's peacefulness, Pietro was running the whole width of the house. He was going berserk.  
  
He hadn't left him for long. Only long enough to make a phone call, really. So how was it that, when he returned, Lance was gone as was the bottle of pills on the table?  
  
Lance's intentions were clear. Pietro had suspected that he, at some point, might try to do away with himself. He cursed himself for leaving the pills there like that, almost an invitation for the rock-tumbler to attempt suicide.  
  
Why couldn't he find him? He knew that Lance was still in the house. With his enhanced senses, he would have heard him leave otherwise. But unless he had vanished into thin air, where was he?  
  
Pietro knew, loath as he was to admit it, that there was one place he hadn't searched. It was the very place he'd been too afraid to go in the house, and still was. The only person that had ever been there was Lance.  
  
And that made the basement a very good place to go if you didn't want anyone to find you, didn't it?  
  
So, puffing himself up with false courage and knowing that he had to save his friend, Pietro made his way down the stingy stairs. He noticed that they creaked in a disheartening way, and twice he feared that he was going to fall through the floorboards.  
  
"Scaredy-cat," he sang to himself, ashamed of the way his voice wavered and cracked.  
  
The basement was certainly damp and dusty, but not as dark as he had expected. There was a light coming from somewhere, though he could not locate its source. He groped along the walls for a light switch, not at all enjoying the experience. Where was Lance? Was it too late? And where was the damn light switch when he needed it?  
  
"Go away," came a muffled voice from somewhere in the room. Pietro jumped and shrieked at the sound that appeared to come out of nowhere.  
  
"Shit," he whispered, trying to still his racing heart. "Lance, that you?"  
  
"Lance?" He didn't care how stupid or scared he sounded anymore. He just wanted to find Lance, stop him and get out of the place.  
  
It was then that he noticed the light was coming through the wall, through a crack. The white lid to the bottle lay discarded on the ground and Pietro realised in an instant where Lance was, unsure of how the bigger boy had managed to fit into such a tiny space.  
  
"I said 'go away!'" Two eyes began to glow through the crack. They were the only features in his friend's face that Pietro could see.  
  
Pietro kneeled down by the hole in the wall, staring into it.  
  
"Lance?" he picked up the lid and rolled it in his fingers. "Have you taken any of those pills?"  
  
The boy simply grunted in response.  
  
"Lance, I need to know how many," Pietro pressed on. "You don't have to say.. Just stick out a hand or two.. Or your feet as well," he added, knowing that Lance could have consumed more than you were capable of counting on fingers and toes.  
  
Slowly, a hand extended from the crack. He sucked in a breath and released it in relief when he saw that Lance was only holding up four fingers.  
  
"Four. Well, can I have them back now?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"No," Lance replied firmly. "No, you may not."  
  
"Lance," Pietro glared, losing his temper as the torch was shone right into his face. "Give. Me. The. Pills."  
  
"You're giving me a headache," Lance replied and Pietro saw his teeth gleaming in what could only be a bitterly unhappy grin. "I think I'll have to take some painkillers."  
  
Pietro felt sick. He couldn't get to Lance. He could not stop this from happening. Lance could die right in from of him and there was nothing he could do!  
  
"No!" the boy cried, his white hair glowing in the torch's beam. "No, Lance, don't, please, Lance-don't-please-don't-Lance-please-please-don't!"  
  
Pietro panted after his outburst of speed and felt a new emotion rise up in him. Something ugly and huge, irrepressible.  
  
"How can you be so fucking selfish?" he heard himself shouting through the wall. Every syllable became punctuated by rage and he could feel himself swelling with it, his voice rising to a scream.  
  
"How can you even think about doing this? Don't you care about anything, don't you care about us? What do you think you're going to achieve by throwing your life away? Yeah, the pain will go and all that shit, Lance, but what the hell is gonna happen to us? You want us to have that kind of pain, do you? I thought you cared! You think that killing yourself is going to change anything? Kitty. Is. Dead, Lance, dead, and nothing is going to change that! Don't tell me you need to be with her, I don't take you for someone who believes that crap. You won't be with her, Lance, because there is nothing left for you when you're dead. You're just dead, that's it, dead and we'll all have to cope with it!"  
  
Pietro's eye twitched and he drew breath, trying to calm himself down.  
  
"If you leave us, Lance," he threatened, his voice breaking on the last syllable. First he screamed at him, now he was going to burst into tears in front of him. That wasn't what Lance needed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Piet," Lance mumbled, his eyes stinging with hot tears as a result of Pietro's harsh words. "It's just too hard to live."  
  
"You've got to try," replied Pietro, biting his lip hard. "You never walked away from a fight before!"  
  
"Maybe I should've," Lance said hoarsely. "Then Kitty would still be-"  
  
"Please, Lance, don't take those pills."  
  
A cold, white hand grasped his and clenched it tightly. Lance could feel that it was clammy with the boy's fear.  
  
"I can't live like this, Piet."  
  
"We'll get you a counsellor. There's one at the hospital- I've seen her advertised. We'll get you some counselling and we'll all get through this. Alive."  
  
Lance ran his other hand over his face. Why was Pietro begging, pleading with him to stop him from doing the one thing he really needed to do? He stroked the smaller hand gently and squeezed it.  
  
"Counselling doesn't work. Nothing's going to work, Pietro, except this."  
  
"So, you're really going to do it?" Pietro's voice sounded very small and his hand was trembling.  
  
"Let me stay here. I want to be here with you when you do it." Lance felt him cling on to his hand more tightly. He could hear Pietro's small sobs and realised that he had never heard that sound before. It was good to know before he died that even a Maximoff cried.  
  
Lance had previously emptied out the bottle on to the floor around him and took a handful of pills. He stared at them, knowing that they were his ticket out of this situation. The Way Out.  
  
He held his hand up to his mouth. Now or never. It actually felt quite nice, having Pietro there holding his hand. These past few days, Pietro had been a rock to him. He frowned at himself for making a rock-pun, even in the face of death.  
  
So.. He had the pills in his hand, just ready for consumption. He wanted to do this. He really did. He could do this, no problem.  
  
Surely it wasn't right to have to psych yourself up for self-destruction?  
  
With a sinking feeling, Lance realised that he couldn't do it. He was too afraid of death to look it in the face like that, however bad he felt about living. Pietro's rant had really stung him. He hadn't realised how much other people cared about him until then. The kind of people who stood by you even though you had killed someone. The kind of people who would get up at three in the morning to rescue you from a field in the middle of nowhere. The kind of people who would not let you be alone when you cried and the kind of people who would stay with you, even when you were going to kill yourself.  
  
By then, Pietro was sure Lance had done it. It was so deathly quiet and his hand had grown limp. Now he was alone, Pietro howled his loss into the empty basement, salt tears running down his face. He couldn't believe he had lost him. There must have been something he could have done to save him. What was he going to tell the remaining Brothers?  
  
Suddenly, he saw a dark shape emerge from the crack. Maddened by grief, he was sure that it was Lance's spirit escaping. A light shone from somewhere in the shape, a halo perhaps. Pietro stared at it wide-eyed through a curtain of tears.  
  
The Something knelt down in front of Pietro and gathered him into its lap, stroking his hair. Calming noises came from its lips, one hand in his hair and the other gripping onto his. Pietro frowned against the Something's chest. Maybe he had been wrong- maybe something did happen when you died. Perhaps Lance had sent his spirit out to reassure him that everything was going to be alright.  
  
Only spirits weren't supposed to be so solid, were they?  
  
"Lance?" Pietro whispered, looking up at the face above him.  
  
"I couldn't do it, Piet," came his reply.  
  
If Pietro had needed any confirmation that this was indeed Lance Alvers in the flesh, he had it. He cried again, this time with relief as Lance held him and soothed him. He couldn't believe that somebody on the verge of suicide could turn round and be a source of comfort.  
  
"Don't ever scare me like that again, Lance Alvers," Pietro told him in a mock stern voice sounding much like Magneto.  
  
"I won't." Lance played with the boy's silky hair, letting each strand slip through his fingers.  
  
"You'll stay?" Pietro asked, leaning so that he could look into Lance's eyes.  
  
It took a few moments for Lance to reply, but when he did, he knew he meant it.  
  
"Looks like you're stuck with me."  
  
And under the glow of a dim beam of light, the boys spent the night in the basement being a source of comfort towards each other.  
  
Because that, as Pietro once said, is what Brotherhood means.  
  
-End- 


End file.
